Mr Blue Sky
by alineasmarrow
Summary: Why is it always the weak ones who get to live. I've always been emotionally unstable, physically incapable and he's the stalwart hero who bears it all. I'm going to die aren't I?
1. Rebirth

"Beautiful day..." I coo pleasantly, leaning my head back on the park bench, feeling the balmy heat flush my skin. I'm not one for weather related commentary usually but this day felt like it deserved a little flattering. Nothing but rain and fog for weeks as more and more riots are breaking out, which doesn't really bode well for our plans with Nate's vacation days. Troubles are melting away with every breath of spring air I take however, a startling contrast to how I've been spending my evenings, sitting on my knees in front of the TV, my mind in a constant whirlwind thinking of the inevitable what ifs of nuclear war. Can't turn on the radio without hearing the latest from our apocalyptic think tanks, that and the reports of worldwide economical collapse and you have a raccoon staring back at you in the mirror every morning.

So it was nice. Nice to have some time away from it all. We moved to the most picketed, secluded neighborhood we could find in Boston, intent on riding it out, or living it out as the case may be.

I shake my hair out of my elastic noose and comb my fingers through it. The light cool breeze sends goosebumps through my skin as I raise my face against it; fluttering through my hair and clothes, my worries melting with every windy caress. Just as I decide to stop brooding I hear laughter from the kids dangling from the play structures nearby. Its an uplifting sight to say the least, not to mention the distinct lack of noise pollution in this place.

And having him back home, that had to help.

"Oh god don't start." I hear Nate chiding in the background.

"What?" I snap my head up and squint at him, sitting at a bizarre two feet from me."Nobody's forcing you to look buddy. Plenty of other things to ogle at around here." I retort flatly, letting myself fall back on the bench, observing our neighborly neighbors with scrutinizing eyes.

"Naw." He drawls out and inches closer. "You're a visual magnet. I've tried taking my eyes off believe me." Arched brow, cheeky grin. Ho boy, hes putting on the charms. "So I'm guessing this means you've got a new list of chores for me to do. " He lets out an exhausted groan, nodding theatrically. "I know your ways woman."

"Pffff." I roll my head to the side, looking for something else to stare at. Ever the chore-master, I was just thinking that the crib's mobile looked a little lopsided, but asking any more of him would probably qualify as enslavement. "You're making shit up now." I facetiously dismiss him.

"Am I?" He exclaims, recoiling back in mock outrage. "The mailbox?" He whispers in a muffled chortle. "That's five hours of my life I'll never get back."

I'm shaking my head, grinning like a starry-eyed idiot. "Angry mob. I told you. As soon as they marched through they stomped it into the ground. I couldn't stop them even if I wanted to."

He chuckles lightly, sliding across the bench."Mhm. So it wasn't because you hated it." He says in deadpan. "I'm to believe that in the middle of what was demonstrably a peaceful protest they dropped their signs and thought to themselves: 'Hey, lets leave everything in minty condition, 'cept for the one thing that would rightfully make for the most confusing political statement in history."

"Mmm... I don't know." I shift uncomfortably in my seat, a bit overcome by some very sobering thoughts. "I can think of at least a dozen."

Feeling his eyes dim at the mere sign of my overreaching, I shrug and take my sunglasses off, trying my best to push those thoughts out of my head. _You said you'd try to relax, remember?_ I'm watching a smug housewife touring her prized beagle through the park, only stopping briefly to accept compliments from fellow hobbyists and admirers.

 _He's back home._ I tell myself until I believe it. _Focus on that._

I swing my legs under the bench and inch over to him, taking his hand and weaving my fingers between his. "Besides, can't blame people for having standards. They probably hated it more than I did."

He bounces back easily, smirking and resilient as ever. "And you're okay with that?" He leans in and my eyes automatically shoot up in reflex, bracing myself for one of his bits. "You're completely fine with having the same standards as a _common rioter_?"

"I'd never say it like that." I blow a pouty raspberry. My eyes could probably roll to the back of my head if they weren't firmly fixed in my sockets."Thing was bright red it needed to go." I wave dismissively, while shamelessly losing myself in the warmth of his closeness. He has his strong arms around me, his dusky eyes shrouding a brief spark of amusement.

"And the same happened to the shed right?" He attempts to guilt me one more time in his tone of honeyed conspiracy.

I click my tongue. If memory serves me that was one of the most satisfying demolitions I've performed recently. Had a bit of a dry spell for months up til then."What can I say, once you beat up a mailbox you'd probably want to move on to something more challenging."

He snorts. "Uh huh..."

His voice trails off. The looming shadow of a vault tech agent nears us with an imposing hand of pamphlets.

Nate exchanges looks with him and despite the stern, strange feel of this man he rolls with it and laughs. "I'll take it. I'll take it." He says very obligingly, thanking the man for his time before he moves on. "So where was I? Right." He wraps his sturdy hands around my manicured fingers, stroking my palm and conspiring in a lowered hush. "I played a little detective last week and poked around in the yard, just for old time's sake."

"Oh? And what did you find?" I ask, acting disinterested.

"A straw hat, a rumpled map, broken sunglasses and an empty martini glass." Damn. I swear I got Codsworth to clean up that mess before he got home. "Know anything about that?"

I take care not to laugh, and I'm blushing internally. Smashing things to a grinded pulp used to be an effortless thing with all the pent up anger I used to have, but to summon that attitude now takes something pretty substantial, or at least something very potent.

"Babe, I think-" He imitates the surprised accountant mildly reacting to his defaced car. "I think one of those beach hobos we saw moved into our yard."

I can't help but snicker. He pecks me gently on the cheek while I rest my head on his shoulder. Bless that man's heart. Hes seen the worst of my vandal tendencies since the very dawn of it, and hes always been keen to take advantage of the hilarity it brought to our lives.

He lets out a sharp whistle. "That must've been some evening."

I cross my arms defensively."Really? You really think that low of me?" I feign offense. "Don't turn into a grumpy cynic on me my yang simply couldn't take it."

He laughs, mumbling something unmentionable about _my yang_ and I'm smiling uncontrollably.

We swap glances and chuckle quietly, my sleepy head nestled comfortably on his chest, my eyes swimming in a daylight teeming with fast-paced busybodies and stampeding parents lunging after their children. I notice the man with the pamphlets is no where to be seen and I feel at ease, hearing what sounds like my husband dozing off beside me.

My eyelids feel heavy with crisscrossing thoughts, the foggy daydreams of an alternate life and a patchwork of hazy memories shift and reveal themselves in my mind. I feel as though I'm finally seeing how much we've changed over the years, especially from the bitter flustered street kids we use to be.

And yet how very much the same we still are. We're still just as lost as we were. We still have no fucking clue how any of this will turn out.

We sigh in tandem with seemingly the same thoughts in mind, neither of us daring to unlock from our sweet, solacing embrace.

"I missed this you know." Nate's voice is thick with longing. He squeezes my hand and I reciprocate, peeking up at his grizzled chin.

"I missed you." I reply automatically, feeling defeated by my words. They don't seem to do us any justice anymore. His brows tense and knit together. He takes a deep escaping breath. Tree leaves rustle, kids count down and race each other, a pair of toy breeds bark, and Nate settles his head on mine; the picture of two people finding a moment of peace underneath the sharpening barb of nuclear chaos.

"Do you remember how simple things were when we were young?" He picks up where I failed. "Nothing too crazy or serious. Just..." He sighs deeply with a hint of melancholy. "...us."

"Yeah..." My words get carried off by the breeze as I feel myself drift. I'm pining for those days too, where our recklessness was excusable. We could blissfully ignore the world's problems, until one day we woke up and realized we lived in a very different world from the one in our imagination.

Everything we do now reflects the times we live in, and I never know when he'll be called back again, into the grinding gears of the resource wars.

I notice the vault tech pamphlet on the ground, already stamped with a muddy shoe print where the man with the cheery thumb should be. My head flips through images of the future, of us, and Shawn, with a rush of paranoia I usually reserve for my book binges. I look around and see nobody acting the same and I tell myself that I'm just overthinking it again, taking a reassuring breath.

 _We'll be fine, as long as we stick together._

And with that thought in mind I give my weary eyes some rest.

Some time passes by. Maybe a lot of time. I hear him stir beside me, and I'm pulled back to reality. I didn't realize that we had moved apart again. He seems unreachable to me. I massage the corners of my eyes and realize hes been staring and I can't help but wonder.

Knowing he wasn't going to break our silence, I raise the required eyebrow.

"That leaning thing." He says.

I tilt my head like a baffled school girl. "What?"

"The way you let your hair fall behind the bench and that relaxed, daydream-y face you make..." He acts out a shudder, grinning roguishly. I stifle a clumsy giggle.

"Uh... we're in a playground?" I announce to him, pointing my gaze towards the sheltered suburban kids still monkeying around the steel beams and colorful plastic slides.

He shrugs. "You say that like it matters somehow." A biting retort, accompanied with that stupid bashful grin of his.

"I've been a horrible influence on you-" I manage to get out before he closes the gap and puts his soft lips over mine. Hes slow but probing, gentle to a fault, grazing me with his sandblasted cheeks. Out of everything about him, I think I missed that the most. The improvised peaks and troughs of his skin, marking him with the countless battles only acts of human savagery could reap on a person.

The thought of him wading through the thick of war used to make me lurch and keep me up at night. After years of seeing him walk through our front door I realized I had every faith in him. Truly, the man could probably take a missile to his face and still walk out looking like the chiseled Greek god-king that he is.

I glide my hand over his cheek, and he stops for a moment, gradually opening his eyes. I hold his curious gaze with an intensity I've left buried for far too long since he left. He gives me his best smile yet and laughs in heartfelt surprise, entwining his fingers through mine.

"I missed you too." He whispers, his usually good-natured tone fraying and quietly shuddering. "Hon' you have no idea."

He clears his throat and takes a mournful moment, avoiding my direct gaze.

"Nate?"

"It's bad." He says hoarsely with a dark expression. "It's really bad out there." He dips his head, eyes shut and jaw twitching. "I can't go back. I think if I did I might get myself killed this time. My C.O. is a lunatic."

My eyes widen, heart shattering into thousands of mangled pieces. What the hell was I even worrying about when Nate has to struggle with his psychotic chain of command every fucking day? I'm pissed at myself, shaking my head vigorously in denial, feeling the sting of budding tears behind my eyes. "We'll figure it out. We'll get you out of that shithole." I hear my voice, throaty and strangled, and I swallow and steel myself for his sake. "You've earned this, and we're going to make damn sure we make the most of it."

His eyes grow with a faint but arresting hope. He lays his calloused hand over mine, smirking and returning to his old self.

"I like the sound of that."

I clutch at his hand fiercely, looking up to him smiling so warmly and so fully that I momentarily forget myself. Rays of unfiltered sunshine freely contour his face. He seems uncanny, like a dream. I lean in secretly and we're met halfway, our kiss deepening with the increasing wind.

Clouds roll over us, shadows cloaking him for a moment, softening his sharp angles. I tug on his sleeve and we take a much needed breather. My eyes wander over him, floating between scars and grooves on his face, surveying him as though I would find a change between looking at him five minutes ago and now.

I elbow him with a playful nudge and a goofy smile. He reads it as an invitation and pulls me closer, burying his face in my neck, nibbling and tickling and setting me off on a mindless chain of teenage giggles. I'm imagining half the neighborhood watching us acting like children in the usual picket fence disgust and it easily sets me off again.

Sure enough there were some people staring, but not all disapproving. A wistful old woman sitting across from us. A couple in their own happy marriage peering at us and then looking at each other in comparable bliss.

The swaying trees, the vibrant green grass, the fragrant smell of spring blooming, drenched bark and rainwater and... _freedom_.

They all add to the memory. The memory of what it once was.

The memory of what it can never be again.

 _That's right. Its over now. They're dead._

"They're all dead."

His eyes are distant. "What are you-"

"We're all dead." I murmur, streaks of grief veining down my cheeks.

I'm pulled back like a puppet on strings, anchored down by an unseen force deeper into murky waters, watching in horror as Nate fades and screams after me between ripples, his face slowly being obliterated. I'm somewhere else in a blink of time. Nate and I aren't the entangled couple sitting in the park anymore. Hes the panicking parent, holding our child with bloodshot eyes and clenching jaw, the cold of steel and advanced technology entombing us, uncertainty twisting the air through hasty murmurs from survivors nearby. A promise of safety brimming on the tongue of the vault tech man. I recognize him as the man from the park but he denies it. I'm putting on a suit. It's loose but the irate man tells me it will shape to my form and to stop fussing and in the same breath he somehow lulls me with another platitude.

Nate should be in crisis. He should be worried over himself, over our child hell anything else. He still asks me.

"Hey, are you okay?" In that stupid worried voice of his.

My heart swells. I hear him, but I'm not fully conscious of him. God forgive me. I choke out a dry, loathsome ' _yeah_ ' in reply. _Why didn't I just-_

He startles me with his sudden horrified face. I try to help him but everything I know is engulfed by darkness.

Fear grips me tightly, fear of what I know always comes next.

 _No. Plea-_

No time. I'm pushed out of my cryo capsule, stricken by the cold metal floor. I'm greeted by the humming of a familiar tune. Big leather boots hung with gory chains fill my vision.

 _'Look up.'_

He is a weathered combat veteran born in a valley of scars. Time is slowed to a crawl, a cavernous echo filling the room with every deliberate move he makes. He turns his head mechanically with a rigidly trained arm holding a gun to Nate's riddled head, smoke piping from it's muzzle.

I'm shivering. I'm cold. I'm cold. I'm cold. My teeth are chattering. I wrap my arms around myself. I know. I know what always comes next.

 _'This is how I killed him.'_ He mouths cruelly, his gravely voice resounding in deafening concert. Rust spreads on the metal walls like an infection, hollowed roots shape and strangle the surrounding pods.

He conveys himself in one latent look, tilting his head with a killer's certainty.

 _'The world you know is gone forever.'_

His words taste true, like frozen metal, enveloping me in prophetic despair. I see him through the fog. Nothing about him is pretend, or exaggerated. He is utterly detached from humanity, and he thanks god for it every day.

The gun-slinging man hunches like hes speaking to a child, casually teaching a life lesson. _'And you'll die, just like he did.'_

 _'Cold.'_

 _'And alone.'_

He taunts cruelly, and laughs all too easily. I heave sharply in denial, and he transforms in pleasured response.

" _You don't have to do this."_ I plead futilely. He doesn't hear mercy. Sneering with the white eyes of someone who went half-mad long ago, he aims his weapon with precision. Reveling in the face of a sadist- hardening in violent fantasy.

I brace myself. I do what I always do. I take one last wistful look at Nate. His body broken and deformed, carelessly stuffed into the pod. His skin pale and brittle, a shrunken shade of his former self.

And yet I see him twitch with life, raising me with hope.

 _Nate?  
_

His lips gnarl in a hideous grin.

 _No. No no no no no._

I drive myself backwards, slamming against the frozen wall. He did this to him. He corrupted him. I can't hold back any longer. Tears stream down my cheeks as I slump my shoulders and surrender to my executioner.

 _I'm sorry._

The killer grins from ear to ear.

 _'Not yet.'_

His back breaks into a sickening thunderous clack, contorting unnaturally into a seeping pulsating mass of screeching mutations. He spins his gluttonous body around until limbs spurt out from his sides, maturing into the shape of writhing hands and long black spindly legs. All I see is gaping mouths, human masks and the wailing husks of the living. It drags itself across the floor, it's chest wheezing and gurgling like an animal faced with it's first meal, leaving a smear of tainted flesh and blood in it's wake.

It freezes, bulging eyes captivated by it's prey, raising it's spidery limbs from all sides, caging me in a darkened corner.

I curl into myself, quivering and sobbing and alone.

 _This isn't real._

They bolt like javelins towards me.

 _I'm not here. This isn't real._

I shut my eyes tight.

Cold metal object scratching against my skull. Then a flash. Then nothing.

* * *

My eyes flicker open. Haze and a dam of grief welcoming me to my new reality.

Something wet trickling down my cheek. My neck creeks like rusty door hinges as I wrestle my head up to look.

Drops of water and light leaking through the exposed rooftop. I guess somewhere in the night between the whimpering and the constant paranoia I must have finally passed out. I rub my knuckles against my forehead, going through the usual mental checklist. I'm stiff, sore, damp and dirty and above all my brain is hammering against my skull. It's then I remember that I voluntarily slept in a glorified body bag, and that in a stroke of masochistic genius I elected to sleep in our old house, in our old room.

It's as though I wanted to die of heartbreak.

 _What-_

I wrinkle my nose. Definitely smells like something dead in here too. Those roaches Codsworth lit are probably still sizzling in the next room.

Memory creeps back in, flashes of when I left the vault a few days ago hunched over blubbering and shaking like a crumpled leaf, shielding my eyes from the sun glaring at me as I emerged. I hadn't mustered the courage to face it for what might've been days, when finally I couldn't suffer the hunger anymore and set out to do god knows what out here.

I try to slip out of my sleeping bag, but the mere notion sends a lightning of pain through my back and legs. I stiffen like a board, my hand bolting for the source, and I let out a guttural cry. God.. What the fuck did I do to myself? How long did I stay in that vault screaming in my damned corner? Time didn't even seem like a thing back then. Still doesn't.

I resolve to lay completely immobile for the time being. No need to move just yet. Time to sort out my thoughts, priorities and-

 _Oh. Right._

I guess the world ended. A little while ago according to Codsworth. _The nuclear apocalypse._

Odd that it slipped my mind. The Nuclear apocalypse. Everything that ever mattered was destroyed, and I somehow _forgot._

The thought invokes a slew of dissonant rationalizations and feelings, but I mostly land on one.

Guilt. Like a camel carrying a house on it's back is sitting on me. That kind of guilt.

I watch as one of the very few pin sized insects I've come across climbs over a half beaten plastic spoon. _Spider. Huh._ Guess they weren't wiped out after all, but they didn't exactly make it into the radiation shift like all the others did.

I rub my leathery eyelids into oblivion as the thought draws me a bath of cold apathy, and its just as well. I've cried enough. I've spent entirely too much time on thinking, not enough on adapting. Giant mutated insects? Simple, kill them. Hungry? Don't overthink it, cook a mammal. Thirsty? Find a stream. It wouldn't be easy, but I needed to move on. Find the basics. Food, water, shelter. I had one down to a certain extent, I'd have to do something before I wither away.

Nothing but the hollow droning tone of survival wringing me forward. How long could I last on that I wonder.

 _I have to survive. Nate would want me to survive._ I then tell myself instead. God knows I knew it was true, of course it was. But the thought rang empty somehow, echoing back that it was a convenient lie even though I knew it wasn't.

I heave a shaky breath. _Nate._

 _Nate._

 _Nate._

My thoughts churn into a cacophonous chorus.

 _Nate?_

My chest whips in the air, breathing hitching sharply, the sensation of wintry sludge rapidly consuming my blood. A tidal wave approaching, the guilty vine fastening its hold draining my subconsciousness.

Frenzied thoughts scramble and jolt to the surface, an aura of something I can no longer suppress. My mouth goes dry, I'm floating on pins and needles hugging my quaking body in a vain comforting attempt but it doesn't stop.

 _God...why me?_ It always comes back to this. _Why me?_ The perennial flood of existence, the collapse of my ill-gotten dam. _Why not the soldier, the one who was made to survive a fucking nuclear apocalypse. God why._ I can't help myself in the least. I hear a pained moan escape my lips as my face tightens like an angry fist. My thoughts spin out of control. I hold my head up in fevered anguish, tormented by the grainy image of his carefree smile and laugh in a park flooded with dreamy sunlight and I feel myself spasm, kicking the floor, screaming and howling like a child. Anything to take it away.

 _Why god why god why god why GOD WHY._

My nails dig into my palms, red uncontrollable rage piercing my heart rendering me limp and nauseous. My lungs are singed in clinging embers. I'm coughing and rolling out of my sleeping bag without realizing it.

I did something to deserve this, didn't I? Somewhere in my life I did something and now-

I steady myself on my back, moans and grunts escaping me until I feel the worst of it dissipate.

The pain comes in waves. Sometimes it's bearable. Sometimes I'm able to breathe, maybe think normally. But most of the time-

I'm a machine for grief. And unbearable regret. And loss.

It doesn't take much. Just one stray thought for him _,_ and I slink back into it.

It takes me mere minutes to seal it all away, back in the darkest repressions of my mind. Wiping away my tears, mending from my tantrum, I feel the burning corners of my eyes simmer. My thoughts, my grief, they're traps. An infinite loop designed to keep me here. A cycle of blame and heartache which if I indulged any further I'd fade away like all the others, my story muted and forgotten.

It's the only thing that's kept me alive this long. The thought that my son could be out there, and the insufferable notion that I could die alone out here without anyone having known what happened to us.

 _Our story. People need to hear our story._

I'm lightheaded as all hell, re-surfacing from the demented grief cycle I forced myself through. I don't know how much time has passed, but it can't have been more than a few scant hours since the last time I was aware of things. I lay my hand on my forehead and stare through the square tiles missing from the roof. _Enough._ Enough grieving. I can act the bereaved wife if I want to, I can accept that my son is gone and that it's now my job to find him. I can even accept that I live in a world where people are capable of destroying themselves to the point of near extinction. But what I can't do anymore is lay around moping with the vague hope that the world will rebuild itself and that I will be rescued.

 _I wish you were here._

 _But you're not, and I need to help myself._

As long as I'm in our old house I'm being dragged down by him. I needed to leave.

After a few attempts I finally get my upper body to sit up on the partially collapsing wall behind me, but doing anything beyond that just sends me through a world of hurt, and I feel myself getting stuck again. It doesn't seem to matter what I tell myself. I'm still sitting here in the end without any real care mustered, watching that same spider skidding across the downtrodden floor, trying to imagine what that floor used to look like. There's nothing in it for me really. Something is keeping me from moving an inch, and not even the prospect of finding my son flips any switches within me.

At this point it feels like a toss up. Either I starve, or I suffocate under the memories of how it used to be. A pang of guilt hits me like a two ton punch as the thought occurs to me just now, but it passes quickly. It all did.

 _The running-_

 _The red cloud-_

 _The baby shrieking-_

 _The vault closing-_

 _̛̖The man with the scar._

The man with the scar. The man in my nightmares.

My eyes are wide open. An eerie calm sanitizes my mind, the wintry sludge turning into a cold steady current. Everything I had thought up until this moment seem like mere obstacles I had to go through to find my purpose.

 _The man with the scar._

I have to find him.

 _And do what?_ A question which irresistibly hung in the air.

I just have to find him.

The gear willfully put into place, an unfathomable zeal now driving me forward with a new singular obsession. Despite the nightmares still fresh in my mind, I push off the ground and wobble into something resembling standing on two legs. I still feel like a newborn bambi, but I manage to get on my feet long enough to tumble my way out of my shell of a house.

No wish has ever filled me like this one. Hand draped over my forehead, I gaze up into the sunlight I had once feared like a faint-hearted damsel and scowl at the person I was just a moment ago. An electric current runs through me and with it, the yet unfamiliar thrill of a coming change that I was certain I could make a reality with my own two hands.

He would pay. Whoever this man was, I would make him see what he took from me, then when he finally knew.

I'd end him. No doubt and no mercy. There wasn't a damn thing this new world could do to stop me.

I've never been more certain that something would happen in my life.

 _Slow down._ I breathe in, trying to calm the morbid excitement I've gathered, the new purpose I've achieved. I can't get too ahead of myself... first thing's in order. The essentials. Food, water, shelter.

My mind clearer than its been in days, I search nearby for the sight of the big rotating Christmas ornament that was Codsworth. I struggle to gain footing and nearly crash into a moldy chair. Surely enough I spot him floating in front of the house pruning the bushes acting like a Mr. Handy ought to, though I'm pretty certain I did see one of his shiny eye baubles springing through the windows during my exorcism.

"Hey Codsworth." I croak out, kicking the dirt under my feet, feeling coming back to my legs again. Here in the relative safety of Sanctuary I felt confident enough to step out in the open now. I can't believe how much of a skittish little girl I was before about just coming out here.

"Mum! What a delight to see you this morning!" His metallic voice is oddly enough a comfort to hear. "With your return I thought a bit more effort on the gardening front couldn't hurt. I'm so very glad to see you out and about. You didn't look very... healthy last I saw you." He mentions tentatively while hovering towards me.

"Well I'm here now." I hear myself mumble. I can't summon the strength to look directly at him. His spinning aluminum body and rotating arms are making me dizzy is probably why. I need to eat something soon.

Almost like he sensed it, he abruptly stops spinning, and opens a dusty bread box from the ground."Well if you hadn't, I would have just popped in with a little surprise breakfa-"

I completely lost control. I positively tackled that plate of food before he could fully bring it out, before I could even ask what it was for that matter. Well whatever it was, it was tough, dry and a little scaly but apparently that wasn't really important.

"Steady there Miss, wouldn't want to start your day with being Heimlich'd, hardly the way to _go_ around these parts. Or maybe it is come to think of it." He warns but his voice is drowned by the roaring drum of my rabid heartbeat. Guess I nearly starved then. Codsworth saved my life just now and it instantly gives me a flashback of how willingly we abandoned him for the vault.

Between the gnashing and the outright gulping of food items he gives me a brief excerpt of what he tried in vain to tell me yesterday before I passed out. I hear something about people in Concord and I feel myself perk up.

"People? Alive?" I don't know why I'm asking, I don't know why I'm even surprised. People are resilient, even in a world like this. People infiltrated my vault and kidnapped my son too, so its probably about time that I suspend my disbelief.

"Very much so! Alive and well as it were." I swallow the urge to blubber again, It felt too good to be true. I feel my strength slowly coming back, and it wasn't just the food. "Although I can't speak of their personal character, they only seemed very slightly buggered and they were only lightly armed."

I resist the urge to laugh, didn't feel very appropriate in my current surroundings. "What do you define as ' _lightly_ ', Codsworth."

"Uh, w-well there was a rather large group entering the museum, some of them looked like refugees. One among them seemed more eagle-eyed, more trained than the others. I'm fairly certain they were armed with guns but I couldn't get a decent look with all the later commotion. My word." My nerves bristle a bit at the mention of guns. "Oh yes! And then there was some sort of conflict and a couple of raiders sprang from cover and ran at me with sticks and knives!" Scoffing, he twirls his pincers midair. "Can you imagine? What was going through their heads."

I'm nodding, dazed but listening intently, my eyes roaming over the horizon beyond the Sanctuary bridge, envisioning a group of hardy but open-minded people surviving in Concord. I feel the first vestiges of hope spark within me and running wild, a twinge of good old nervousness also. Maybe these people were the sort who could help me make sense of all this.

I shake my head, pulling back on my reins yet again. They would help me if I found something they needed, if they knew I was capable. I look down on the small cuts and bruises of my shaking hands, thinking back on the years I spent at the shooting range with Nate. I wonder if I kept any of that training hidden beneath the cooking, cleaning and child rearing veneer.

I'm roused by a ghostly shiver. It was just a week ago that I was sitting in a rocking chair, reading books on how to raise Shawn, in a house that actually looked like it could stand on it's own.

I close my eyes and hug myself desperately, breathing in and out until the feeling fades. I don't know if I'm made to survive this world, I don't think anyone is. I can still feel the impending storm rumbling beneath the surface, but I can't fall into that trap anymore. I can't turn into my own worst enemy, not when I have so many in this world lining up for the part.

In any case, it was heaps better thinking I had a chance instead of the bleak nothingness I was ready to drown myself in.

"Its worth a shot then." I finally answer. There's no more room for doubt.

"I'm so very glad you think so! I was worried you'd let this opportunity pass." Codsworth exclaims rather loudly, his whirring metal limbs gesturing enthusiastically in the orange sunset. "There's nothing better than a walk through nature I always say."

I give him a great wide berth. "Really, Codsworth. Are you okay?"

He ceases all motion at once, coasting somewhat in my direction. "Again, mum? Everything is in working order, save for a few dinks and scrapes here and there, I'm perfectly functional." He spins one of his intimidating looking grapplers up in the air. "Although I'm certain I could have done without the bi-weekly raids these last few decades, I've managed to maintain my functionality by scavenging and trade. ' _Success comes in cans, not cants._ ' my mum always said."

"I've never said that." I state blankly.

"You should!"

With my arms crossed I'm trying to think of what's different about him. He seems excitable but also unusually... elated maybe? I can't help but shift my attention completely on Codsworth, which can't be anything else but a blessing in disguise. He sounded as though he were concerned for a good long time just now. I never realized the range of emotions these Mr. Handies were equipped with.

"But yes, its good to see you moving. I never thought you'd leave the ol' nest for anything, least of all people." I can't keep my surprise as I'm reaching for my belt and pistol. Sighing and genuine as he was, he is reacting like a dotting parent. They're supposed to watch over you and take care of your general well being but beyond that I never thought of him as anything more than a flying tin can nanny.

"Well, I'll remain here and secure the homefront. You still know the way don't you?" One of his baubles zoom in on me and I feel myself getting uneasy.

"Yeah... Yeah I'm fine." Suddenly the idea of going out on my own strikes me as at the very least a bit reckless, but I'm still riding on the adrenaline from earlier. "So you're not coming with me?"

He hesitates before answering, the plated wheels inside his 'eyes' momentarily jerks before it rotates normally. I almost imagined it like it were him flinching for a second... were Mr Handies always so curiously human-like? We didn't have him long enough to notice, either that or I was a bit too reclusive to see it, what with the baby and all.

He seems a bit dismayed, his metal arms drooping and an unusual buzzing sound coming from his top half. I'd swear he was never this expressive before. "I'm afraid this place could be ransacked, or worst." I look around briefly before settling on that logic. "I couldn't live with myself if I left and some rampaging hooligan undid all of my hard work."

That raised an eyebrow. "Sure, Codsworth. You do that." I reply dryly, to which he seems satisfied with.

I'm shivering again, losing myself in the tired trenches of my dragging thoughts. My chest aches with the cold knowledge of just how alone I was. It was never possible to be this lonely before. There was always a husband, a friend, a well-to-do neighbor or a pamphlet wielding stranger lurking nearby; a person for every square inch of earth.

Now? All I'm left with is the crushing feeling that what I've seen so far doesn't even come close to being the worst of it.

But as much as I needed a set of human irises to lose myself in, a warm but calloused hand to hold, I needed to find the man from my nightmares. The one who took everything from me.

I quicken my pace towards the bridge, not realizing that I was already walking briskly in that direction. "I'll see you soon Codsworth." I wave him off, breaking into a jog, crossing through the washed out picket fences and deserted colorless playgrounds.

"Looking forward to it Miss!" He calls out after me. "Please come back safely! And in one piece mind you!"

I feel my brows merge in response and my heart skip a tense, awful beat. "I'll try." I mutter evenly to myself, keeping my eyes firmly ahead.

* * *

 **Would appreciate any feedback! Haven't written anything in a long long time and decided to write for a game I've probably spent at least 200 hours in so far.**


	2. The Process

Sunny days ahead here in post-apocalyptic Boston, golden rays shimmering through the dotted clouds creating a prismatic glow across the mountainous line. I almost trip on the corpse of some poor splattered animal just to stare at it, taking care not to look down too intently. Instead I'm immersing myself in the horizon, drilling thoughts of reuniting with Shaun in my head until I'm convinced it will happen.

My eyes draw to the Red Rocket monument, the thing I used to cringe at every time I drove past to the grocery store. I check that my gun is still holstered and sway my pipe midair, toiling around the idea of a worst case scenario, racking my memory for some techniques I learned at the shooting range.

I blink at a strange sound blooming from the parking lot. Its an excitable bark coming from the cargo bay behind the building. I spot the cause shortly after; a brown mangy ball of fur trotting towards me.

 _A dog? Out here?_ I draw a thousand conclusions, one being that if a dog can manage to survive out here then I sure as hell can.

Hes panting happily, no crazed glaring or wild jutting fangs to speak of. I feel a silly sort of giddiness catch in my chest, like I'm welcoming an old friend.

"Hey boy!" My voice sounds coarse. Throat's a bit parched but I hardly notice. My heart thaws the moment the dog approaches me, re-gifting me with moments from my childhood without so much as a hint of doom 'n gloom. Maybe my luck was turning after all. "You belong to anyone?" I ask and immediately shake my head. Even as I'm checking for a tag I know I won't find one. There were too many things I needed to know about this fossil of our world.

He flourishes and bucks around with the preserved friendliness of a domestic pet. If I didn't know any better I'd say he had a generous owner. I scan the Red Rocket and it's surroundings for any movement but I see nobody near. If he had an owner hes either long gone, or dead. There were signs of abandonment all over him.

"What do you say? Wanna partner up?" I am pretty damn chirpy, that's for sure. I wonder for a split second if I'm attracting attention to myself. "Dogmeat?" I find that I'm easily grinning as I'm trying out his new name, and he responds with a cheery bark.

"Good deal then. Lets go." I march down the path and follow it to the still flashing Red Rocket.

The Red Rocket. Of all the places in the world these had to be the ones still standing. Guess it was too much to hope that they would build more vaults around this place. Maybe they did for all I knew.

I watch the dog charge towards a pile of greasy boxes near the gas pumps."Won't find anything here. Was true even when it operated." Glowering at the service sign I check under the overturned crates and the one lone medkit resting against the gas stop. They're mostly filled with worthless debris. Maybe there was something inside the main building, but even with my new doggy companion the thought of being ambushed in a dark and cramped gas station has me seriously thinking of cowering back to Sanctuary.

I'd swear I felt the slightest tremor underneath my feet the moment I stepped past the sign, and it hasn't stopped since then. I feel the prickling oppression of being trapped in a maze with no exit, turning my head at any distant noises or dust clouds brewing nearby. Gun primed and fixed into my untried fingers, I swivel around in search of Dogmeat. Hes digging up a mound of red dirt, whimpering and slinging clumps of oily crud behind his dancing tail.

"What's wrong boy?" I call out to him, which very abruptly stops the tremoring.

It becomes an outright earthquake erupting from deep down under, and I react just a second too late. A push of wind against my ankle and a panicked breath lumps painfully in my throat. I feel myself moan and stagger, dropping my gun and pipe in one lame motion, feeling numbness course through my limbs.

I'm blindly stumbling backwards until my head slants down and I view the source.

"What the hell..." I sputter hazily, blinking rapidly as the blurriness clears, trying to make out the foreign shape on my leg.

My blood curdles. A bald and sickly creature is clamping hard on it, it's tall yellow teeth sending me reeling in a dark spiral of sheer hysteria. I shriek and topple backwards, breath hitching sharply with every panicked eyeshot into it's beady eyes. It's wrenched stubbornly into place, it's jowls rippling hungrily, rasping it's viscous acidic tongue against my calf until my mind snaps into a frenzy. I kick and tug but with each attempt it clamps harder, breaking through the leather pads and penetrating through my suit.

It stings like a thousand bees and spreads my eyelids wide open. I see my blood drip from it's maw and twitch angrily, digging my nails into the cold hardened earth. The carnal want of seeing this thing crunched into a gob of bone springs me off the ground in furious haste.

I snarl and roar at it's beady dots for eyes, picking up my pipe and aiming it at the top of it's crown. It's forehead skin wrinkles savagely, it's growling becomes an alarming call to arms. More of them spurt out from the red soil and sprint in synergistic circles around me. I ignore them for now, gliding my pipe in an wide arch across the mole rat's head until I feel the bony knock of the hit. I bring it down again and again and again until it's teeth loosens off me, bracing myself for another attack.

It doesn't come. I open my eyes and see it limply roll on it's side, a pool of tar like fluid staining the earth from the base of it's skull. My eyes run in clutching search for Dogmeat but I can't find the beast anywhere.

The two creatures which sprung end their circling and burrow into the ground. I try to follow the depressions giving away their trajectory, but it sinks deeper than I can see, and I take some hobbling steps behind me, my heart racing faster than I can think.

 _Focus. Focus._ _Focus. God, focus. Swing at anything that moves._

I finally hear barking from what sounds like a few feet away. I turn to see Dogmeat battling it out with his own circle of mole rats, the beefiest among the vicious curs bolting aggressively towards him.

I dash and close distance, using my running momentum I successfully fracture one of their heads with a blindsiding whip from it's side. It slows down it's onslaught and my temper cools, a freed second to think on what to do next. I pump it again for an impaling stab through it's spine, releasing it only when it stops howling and gnashing it's teeth. It convulses at my feet, spiting tiny speckles of black ooze on my suit. I wince and I put it out of it's misery, stomping it's head into a gory paste, briefly witnessing Dogmeat's kill from the corner of my eye.

 _Is it over? Please tell me it is._

Spinning around in adrenaline fueled suspense I see no signs of more of them and internally cheer for victory, laughing hysterically through my ragged breathing.

 _This wasn't so bad._ I tell myself. _I can do this._

I shake my head and instantly change my mind, my momentary triumph crucified by my own thoughts. _Yeah, it was bad._ It could've been much worst, and it'll only keep getting worst if I don't learn to pay attention.

I lean forward on my knees and come close to a fall, queasy and more than a little rattled. Dogmeat spits out the remains of a rat with a pitiful whine and his tail downcast. I react and kneel over to him, examining him for any cuts or gashes, taking a pithy of comfort with each stroke of his grimy fur.

 _Hes fine,_ I bask in the relief I feel for the dog I came to depend on just a few minutes ago. _...just hungry. Guess he doesn't want to eat these things._ My eyes linger over the smarting presence of their corpses, my mind shrinking into their blighted eyes.

 _Things are only going to get worst from here on out._

I feel faint.

I teeter on my toes like a partially uprooted tree. I try to endure it but I feel a disturbing sensation of ice water splashing against my cranium. I groan and fall, knees deep in the dirt, craning my neck upwards in response to the pain shooting through my chest and eyes.

The very air feels like its vibrating. My eyeballs burn with swirling rings of seedy yellow liquid.

 _Help m-_

The sky stretches away from me, the world is yanked impossibly backward reduced to an expanded hallway at infinite view, the ground shattering from miles around like an pickax taken to ice. Smoldering holes of pallid smoke crack open the skies, spilling cold fog over the Red Rocket gas pumps, veiling Dogmeat's puzzled and tilting head.

He shrivels and prones to my knees, and he is covered by the fog before I can reach him. I give into my weakness, dazed and wretchedly nauseous, my world shrinking further and further into the tunnel of the mole rat's lifeless eyes.

And then I'm plunged into a pit of darkness. Something's watching me, taunting me, eroding me from the inside out, it's poisonous glands rupturing my skin and filling me with the broken mirrors of future's past. Excruciating dreams of what will never be fulfilled veer into a looping carnival ride of hope and despair, with no end to it in sight.

Nate. Shaun. My world.

 _Our world._

And I see the masks. The flesh seared into our backs, cooked into the crux of our homes and bedrock, and we will never be able to purge them. And I cry for what seems like forever, mourning it until the sun eclipses above me in blessed condemnation.

I slip off the edge of the cliff. I am falling through an elevator shaft, tumbling down the coiling staircase, drowning into the dim slimy undertow of the salty pacific, body dragged to the floor and pressed through a grate, my eyes washed by ovals of crusted iron, unimaginable pain wracking me as I'm torn apart and remade into his exacting image-

 _Into the man with the valley across his face._

 _No._

 _NO!_

I'm lying in the dirt, facing a warping steel ceiling and a smog-less lilac sky. Dogmeat pokes his cold wet nose against my cheek and I gasp, stiffening upwards as if I woke up from dreaming.

"Hey boy." I whisper groggily. "How long was I out?"

He rises up and scratches the back of his ear.

I stand with him and swipe at my eyes, avoiding an intimate glimpse of the rat thing genocide which has now progressively rotted for what was probably at least an hour under the blazing heat. All that matters is that they're dead, and somehow nothing happened while I had that nightmare or vision or... just thinking about it is giving me a headache. I cup my feverish forehead into my palm. I didn't lose much time, and if I hoofed it quicker from now on I'd get to Concord before sundown at least.

I take a tour around the mound of dead bald things before leaving, and realize that Dogmeat had taken care of most of them, all while I struggled with just one.

I can't help but feel stripped of my usefulness. I give the dog a gentle pat on the head and bring my fists to my hips. "I don't know what happened... but I'm glad you stuck around." I wipe the cold sweat off my temple, relieved that my wound was still too small to care, overlooking the carnage for a sprig of shiny metal. None of this would have been nearly as difficult if I had just used that damnable thing.

"Just need to learn how to-"

I find my gun and take it up in my trembling hands. I stabilize them before I take my weapon back fully, fixating my eyes on the trigger.

 _This thing. Have to press it, and mean it._

A foul smell assaults my nostrils. I squint my teary eyes. "Fucking hell they reek." _Guess I'm probably not much better though._ I inch my eyes over myself, suddenly aware of how disgusting I was. God what I wouldn't give-

I take a closer look at the three toothy bite marks on my leg. It occurs to me, I fainted shortly after it bit my leg.

 _Was I poisoned?_ I cross my arm against my stomach, feeling decidedly vulnerable. _Did that thing poison me?_

I grunt loudly and punt one across their grave pit, cursing under my breath for the lost daylight. Figures this is how I'd start this off... on the wrong fucking foot every time.

Dogmeat is already set at the edge of the hill, tail wagging against the apocalyptic backdrop. _I need to be faster at this... or else the next time I get pinched I might not have my doggy rescuer._ I hitch my pipe to my belt and walk gingerly toward the descending sun, assigning blame to anything but the world around me.

The dog is jumping and barking, but he calms the closer I get to him. I sigh and nod apprehensively, gratefully accepting the new leader of this merry adventurous duo. Heck if I know what I'm doing, better to trust the pup who was born into it.

"You're right, we should go." I hike up the small hill and look down at him scaling the rocks below. He isn't heading in the right direction, but I can't tell if I care where we go at this point. I'm rolling the dice and I'm getting danger no matter what, it only matters how high the numbers get.

"Yeah, sure. Over there looks fine." I shake my head as I realize that I'm imposing sarcasm on a dog. Poor thing didn't deserve it after guarding my useless hide.

I stand rigidly against the sudden gust of wind and inhale a gulp of prickly air, never wishing for a proper mask as much as I do now. I take some cautious steps down the rocky slope, thinking a compass could have been useful too. Oh, and maybe a bar of soap, a radio or some books to lose myself in. I'm already wishing for these things back and I barely have my boot out the door. I take a few more leaps down, carefully balancing myself on a hollowed tree trunk. Something tells me I'll never know these luxuries again within my lifetime, and the thought of it hinders me more than it probably should.

We make it down the steep jagged hillside. Looking up I still can't believe how much was remade from the landscape it was before.

I holster my gun and analyze the laid out paths before me, weary of any sense of choice.

"I'll just follow you."

* * *

"So this is where you wanted to go." I set my gun on a bed of thick grass. "Good thinking..." I mumble weakly. The dog doesn't hesitate in taking a few licks of the murky current. It looks to be slightly better than any other I've seen. The shimmering top layer has never looked so mesmerizing.

We've been searching from wreckage to ruin for several hours now with not much luck finding anything useful, save for some materials and some very few bullets of ammo. Dogmeat has become the habitual lifesaver, and I tend to be his anchor in most of our fighting scenes.

 _I just need to drink something._ The dimming thought has me leaning forward, nearly diving with how barely tenable my knees are. _I'll be better if I can just get a drink._

Dogmeat lets out a high pitched whine. I jerkily stumble away from the water, wondering why I did in the first place.

 _You need this. Just drink quickly and move on. Don't think about how dirty it looks._

I brace my fall with my branches for arms, easing out a gruff sigh with the impact that comes with it. I'm trying to figure out what was nagging me. I'm hot, I'm exhausted and I'm thirsty and my head is throbbing. I'm sulking in the weight of the day as I bowl my hands through the swampy water.

"Here goes nothing..."

Bubbles rise from about a foot away from my face. I throw my hands up and narrowly dodge the blurred figure that snapped from seemingly nowhere.

I freeze, thoughts interrupted by the blank frailty of my existence.

A ghoulish collection of disease ridden flesh shutters from where I once stood, upper body sticking out from the mud of the edge of the water, it's screech diffusing the air of all pretense of fairness.

I can't move. I am fixed into it's blistered slits where eyes should be, it's holes weeping streaks of milky ichor over it's facial rims, pooling in the black waters below. Orbs of swamp spill out of it's mouth as it gurgles and thrashes against it's tether, gradually ripping out of it's unraveling snare trap. It lunges and I do the minimum to stay alive, shuffling backward at every jab into the air, still dragging an empty, dumbstruck mind. I'm stunted by it's heavy stench, Dogmeat barking madly in my periphery.

It's peeling itself out of the mud romping around like an infant, and when it stands on it's legs I finally snap.

 _My gun. My gun...!_

Nerves ignited, my hand strains for the gun. Too slow. I'm reflexively blocking it's tackle with my pipe, the force of two ton cement blocks crashing down on me thrusting air out of my lungs. It shrieks putrid lesions into my face. I give it one hard push but it keeps grabbing after me.

My eyes scurry for an advantage.

There's nothing to help me. Nobody's here to help me.

I scream in blood-curdled anguish, pushing over and over without any gain. It responds by driving it's mandible past the pipe and bringing it's teeth sinking into my arm.

I cry out. It's eyes pop out hungrily. It welds it's jaw even tighter, blasting me with unbelievable pain.

This thing is going to kill me.

I hear Dogmeat bellowing right next to my ear. He chomps down on the thing's hand and fingers, shredding it's arm out with one clean jerk. I instinctively push to one side. We roll down the risen mud with Dogmeat howling after us.

We're back in the water, and I'm kneeling topside, making me instantly realize how shallow it was. I see it's gaunt face from the black bottom of the stream still lashing out at me, and I feel nothing but rage.

I knock into it's head with the bud of my pipe. It outstretches its one last arm, flailing it blindly while I'm mashing it's head into the water. I beat it's skull in until it crumbles, exploding like a cherry within the moving water, scattering in rows of crimson mist.

I hunch over it when I know it's dead, swaying over it's dug in skeletal body, sharing in the peace that was brought to us both.

Sunlight beams over the drowned crater. I receive it's warmth before I slump out of the stream.

I'm grunting between sobs, crawling to my gun. Gravity has never felt so pressing as I tow my drenched self to a nearby tree foot.

"God..." I whisper through the cooling day, the sun retreating further with every minute that passes. "God."

I take up my arm, examining it for anything other than what I saw happen to me.

"I need to... lay down or something."

The sun flares it's last light and falls beneath the mountainous line. I can't contain it anymore. The tide bursts from within, the writhing beginning in slow tandem, face tangled inside my palm with forlorn tears wedged between them.

"There's no way." I sob and whimper. "I won't find Shaun, not like this. How am I going to-"

I hear distant gunfire, and a pair of voices from the thicket across the field. I jolt up, leaning openly against the tree.

 _I don't have time for this._

I bottle it up as quickly as it came. Dogmeat is sitting at my heel, eyes alerted but keeping quiet. I feel his fur gristle against my exposed calf. I calmly pet him, meeting his weary gaze with a learned clarity.

 _You tried to warn me._

"I'll be better." My head wavers drunkenly at the vacant sky. "It's that or die, right boy?"


	3. Where's Orpheus? (Part I)

My unbidden luck scoffs at my ankle, knowing that I can scarcely lift it past the strewn rafts of fluted trees and brush, arranged almost purposefully like an obstacle course between me and Red Rocket. I'm tensing it for the next pop of impact, and find that it doesn't help anything. In fact I've found that nothing I try to do seems to help anything.

Post-apocalyptic Boston doesn't allow for things to work out I've realized. I've learned too much about surviving out here. Some of it leaks and some of it stays. One day feels like a week and I can only imagine time stretching even further the more risks I have to take.

In the last few minutes I learned something too late. Don't stop for anything obvious, go for the small stuff, the garbage that nobody wants or nobody cares to use. Maybe if I stopped to think, maybe I wouldn't have taken something so obvious. Maybe I wouldn't have poked the beehive, which in this case was rather large group of bandits camping out in the swamp.

"Cut her off! Do something!"

The Red Rocket monument is my only beacon of hope. I'm sprinting toward it's bright red beak peeking through the featureless landscape.

"Just shoot her! _Fucking shoot her!_ "

"Shit!" My voice of grit and sand knots in my swelling throat, the weight of my swamp sponging clothes and cargo whittling me down. Heart caught in a stampede, gasping on the prickly air and swerving behind a cluster of trees. I hear myself squeal when a bullet whizzes by, danger tingling at the nape of my neck.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" I can feel one of the bandits slowing down and shrieking after his marksman, but I do not look back, I do not flinch. I keep running, the consequences of stopping lurching me forward.

Dogmeat's hotfooting it ahead, snapping his gums at any overgrown insects thinking us easy prey and acting as my guide, trailing after the safest pathways through the swamp. I'm holding the pittance of loot I risked my life for against my abdomen. It grows heavier by the minute, my gun taut in my other hand.

 _Have to drop it. Won't make it._

Just as I'm relaxing my fingers off my prize I spot a decrepit shack hidden by several trees giving way. I hurdle over the wires and slide into the bullpen beside it, landing squarely on my shins and letting out a loud yelp.

I sling my muddied hand over my mouth and smother myself, hurriedly calculating how much distance I had gained and whether or not I made the right decision to hide.

My chest is still fluttering from the chase. I drop my cargo next to me. _Maybe if I stay quiet I can sneak through the back, climb the hill and make a break for the garage..._

I try to imagine the remaining distance from here to Red Rocket and I'm instantly brought down by a sinking feeling. God do I wish I didn't waste my bullets. I'm no where near the ideal place to shake these guys.

"Are you fucking serious?! Are you-" Their leader pummels the swamp farm's gate as he comes to a running halt, his eyes alight with a stubborn sheen. Blood pounding in the back of my head, vision regressing, faltering in their numbers. They're three at least, one of them I see through the gaps in the soggy wood kicking the post upholding the wires.

 _They're too pissed, they're too alert. They'll see me as soon as I try to move._

Desperate thoughts of negotiating my way out of this run through my mind. There's no way they'll let me go unscathed, not with how things went down at their camp. Dogmeat pants and stands beside me, his ears twitching and head pivoting warily.

Presumably the 'leader' of this cooperative bunch yanks the other, more bearded one by his chain, a gesture which shoots goosebumps all over my skin. Slavery. Shouldn't surprise me but it does. He mouths something I can't pick up. The bearded one nods and heads back into the marshlands, iron chain flagging after him.

I brace my knees against my chest, lungs straining against my rib cage. There's nothing more I can do. My fate is sealed. I'll be captured, made a slave, and after they've used me up they'll find some way to twist me into an example, just like every strung up corpse I've seen on my path down here.

The thought nearly drives me mad, my bones rigid and face turning numb. _I should have kept running._ I'm too angry or scared to cry. _No. I should've never left Sanctuary._ I close my eyes and drive my fingers into the mud, heaving in the searing dry ice of regret.

I'm in a tug of war between hope and despair. I hear them pacing and whispering, until one of them shouts loud enough for me to hear.

"We're going _nowhere_ until you come out with our shit." I gulp and wrap myself in doom. I'd hoped his tantrum meant something else. "You wandered in the wrong camp sister." I'm trembling and squelching the urge to sob.

The bandit leader is pacing once again along the makeshift fence, his friend reinforcing his words nodding like some back-town hick. I feel myself tense up, my fists ball up in the muck.

"Fuckin' vault dwellers never change. Always think they can shit on our turf and take our stuff that _we fucking bled for_ while they sit pretty in their fucking tunnels... _I'll fucking tell you something bitch_..."

I can't listen anymore. I curl up inside my drenched jacket, my thoughts encased in lead, anchoring any delusions of escape. _I really messed up this time._ Numbness cools my wooden body, my eyelids drooping, yielding to the despair gnawing on me since the day I rose from the vault.

 _Where am I? Am I here?_ Vision blurs in dizzying spirals of color. _Am I going to die?_

 _Am I dying?_

 _Nate?_

 _When was the last time I slept? Would be good to sleep again._ I rest my head against the divide between me and my makers, the whistling in the trees blissfully drowning out their taunting.

The age of aftermath allows for my first era of stillness. I collapse in the stifling appeal of darkness, with the dream of never waking up.

* * *

 _Faint likeness of Shaun's sweet freckled face, the smell of baby oil and fresh covers, his laugh when I play with his feet, his look of shock and wonder at new sounds, new textures and his inquisitive, thoughtful gaze when I speak. Nate cooing at him teaching him new words through a softly spoken rhyme. I tease him, telling him he probably won't remember it and he replies with that righteous smile of his, uttering in low, velvety promises that he has faith he will. I chuckle, believing as he does. Like he always did._

" _Wouldn't it be great if he became a uh- what do they call those circus kids with the violins... a prodigy? Like Linley or Bustabo – but better, all 'cause of my tutoring. Baby genius they'll call him." He says with scantily contained sarcasm. I'd reply with something equally as stupid, and we'd carry on for who knows how long until one of us exhausted the other, or one of us made Shaun giggle somehow with our goofy smiles and animated gesturing. We'd huddle in each others arms, steeped in pride perching over our son, sharing musings of how he'd grow. Nate would slowly get more and more serious, eventually dropping the sarcasm completely, spinning tales of how Shaun would transform into a man who conquers all of mankind's fears with his ideas and innovations._

 _He prophesied whenever he could, and every time he had one of his bouts I'd watch his forehead and eyes crinkle in cadence with the story, always serving himself as the father who catches him when he falls, there to lend backbone to his lofty dreams and to feel pride for him when he achieves them._

 _I look into his son and believe as he does, awed by visions of the destiny we could help him reach._

 _I believed him with all my heart._

 _My head leaning on his shoulder, he murmurs warmth and pleasure into my ear, spinning Shaun's story like a soothsayer-_

" _This." Muffled knock. "Fucking."_ A louder one.

"BITCH." The final blow, and I'm ripped out of Nate's arms, back to the farm by the kicking of the gated stump, the unnamed bandit splitting my ears with pronged and empty words. The cold wetness of the swamp hits me like a tsunami, a rapid recollection of this apocalyptic reality dueling my fogged brain for a place in my consciousness.

 _It was a dream?_ I look to Dogmeat who is inexplicably as loyal as ever, sitting by my side even now. _I fell asleep._

I finally give the hysterical bandit his due attention, peeking cautiously at him only to see his buddy walking past the far reaches of the wire, almost coming into my visibility. I stumble back into the most obscured corner I could find, holding my heated breath against the back of my hand.

The navy blanket of night encroaching the sky behind the branched seeing glass. It's been several hours, and I still have an intact body. I'm still alive.

 _Why am I not dead?_ I ask myself in listless confusion. A dull realization slogs through my brain.

 _They haven't gone past the fence. Why?_

Dogmeat drags himself on his stomach to the front of the bullpen when he hears a hard whack against the wall. He yips and wriggles backward. I reach for him and we scrunch as small as we can, huddled in a trapped corner.

They noticed me getting up, they must have. They're throwing pebbles at us like shotgun pellets spread across the flimsy slab of wood. I squelch my gasping breath suppressing the urge to run, holding the wall up with my foot.

After what seems like hours the assault thins. I can hear a one sided conversation, the leader with his gravely voice of thorns and his friend who is mute and only nods in agreement. I'm struck immediately by how bored he sounds.

"She's probably one of hi-" He's cut off by an especially loud pelting.

"-ever going to fucking deal with this shit-" It's harder to hear them now. They've taken to flinging huge lobs of mud over our heads.

"Ah well. This is fun." I hear him faintly conclude.

They snigger and cackle and throw more. They remind me of schoolchildren, only a tad more sadistic. I've already pulled Dogmeat under my arched knees, curling my head against my chest, my arms cocooned over the back of my neck praying nothing too sharp or heavy decides to land the wrong way. They carry on for a while until I hear them abruptly stop. I press my ear for a clue and hear swinging doors and a set of combative stomps through the mud.

"You bestsh stop that right now." The baleful voice of someone much much older rumbles from behind the cabin.

"You're back, about fucking time!" The bandit sweeps his arms up exasperated, voice tinted with a barely restrained tantrum. "Help us get that little bitch off your farm and we'll be out of here no sweat no trouble, you hear?" He snaps, grumbling like an order.

All panic is drained from me and I'm listening attentively. I don't dare move a muscle, calming my breathing to a standstill.

"Problem I ain't eyewisin' no one but y'two 'ere." I hesitate to take a glance through the gap. When I do I see a man clad in a rubbery mossy apron and a faded cap, dirt crusted clothes, belt and stitched pockets full to bursting with homemade tools of alien making. I can't put together his face. Hes wearing a brown rubber mask, the only discernible trait being the dark streaks of his hard earned life carved beneath his eye sockets, lit in grease by the moonlight. He's a man used to engineering his own booby traps. I didn't notice any signs of traps in the area but I know that I wouldn't see one if it was expertly placed.

 _I got lucky._ I shiver and roll my eyes up at the temperate sky, clenching my jaw. _Again._ I size up the bandit leader, realization dawning why he didn't dare pass the fence.

"Are you blind? There's a girl, shes on your fucking farm." The man points directly into the hole I'm looking through. I balk and hiss through my fingers, heart hammering in my chest. I want to go. I want to leave. I don't know what to do, but I can't stay here.

"There." He nudges his head. I cower down to Dogmeat's level, groveling in the mud. I smell bloodied nails and dirt. I hadn't noticed Dogmeat's digging under the bullpen, unearthing it in small amounts through the sloped end, moonlight beginning to peep inside like a compass needle pointing to freedom. I cease to think and move to repeat him, shoveling it carefully, matching my noise with the swamp and the conversation.

I pause to look through the hole between digs. The old man in the suit isn't in the least perturbed, his tone eerily slow and purposeful. He barely exerts the effort to look, his one pea-sized lazy eye pinpointing me like a glassy spotlight. I skim over his mask, a chill running through my spine. I want to run. Something's wrong here. I can't stop shivering with the nebulous sense of dread his presence inspires.

As soon as I try to stand my eyes find the rifle the marksman is holding. Blood rushes through my ears. I don't want to try my luck outrunning a gun again. Unable to think of anything else, I get back to digging, frantically clawing at the hardened mud.

The old man mentions nothing of what he saw, keeping a firm eye on the bandits behind his perimeter."I's seein' my property." He sounds smoky and dulled, his voice hitting a flap of skin or maybe his jaw is loose. Either way, the man must be ridden with defects."I seein' two troublemaking _dickheads_ trespassin' on my farm, that's what I seein'."

" _Old_ _fool_." The bandit sneers with profound loathing layered in his words. They know each other intimately. Heart sinks in my stomach. I want to disappear through the ground, unable to shake the feeling of something hideously escalating. "I'll just have to come back with my guys, and we'll see if you're still blind then."

The old man doesn't speak, doesn't blink. Instead he puts two fingers in his mouth and a sharp, shrill whistle can be heard.

"Ey. hey!" The leader doesn't hesitate to hop the fence and grab a tight hold on the old man's arm, jerking it out of his mouth. Fearful understanding is written all over his face. My throat feels like it's clamping shut. I let out a panicked moan and resume digging with a sparked fright.

"Just what do you think you're doing?!"

The old man shrugs with the mold of a wicked smile widening under his rubber mask.

"Jus' whistlin' fer 'er is all."

The bandit panics and tumbles backward, waving around desperately and tangling himself inside the fence. "Crazy fu-"

Eyes wide with terror looking for a way to untangle himself, he barks at his slack-jawed marksman.

"Back up! I said... BACK UP!"

"Wha-"

The marksman lets out a tortured cry echoing through the night. Vicious growling, splashes of water and gunfire. I can't look. I turn away and abandon the hole we dug, hopping over the bullpen and skidding behind the cabin. Dogmeat follows through the animal sized hole, panting and squinting tiredly at me.

Everything I hear; the screaming and the thrashing, the sloshing and the gurgling... the quiet but unmistakable sound of the old man's rattling laugh, makes me freeze and instinctively recoil.

 _And yet-_

The cool night burning through my pores, spilling into my veins and rallying my senses. None of it feels real. It's all a fog of intangible nightmares spewing mirages that go round and round inside my head and I can't hear the voice anymore, the one who used to reassure me _someday I'll have peace_. Someday I'll find Shaun and we'll be together and the nightmares will end, the hopeful sunrise cruelly ripped away every time I come face to face with the twisted and perverse creatures of this new world.

I'm panting and leaning heavily on my knees, wiping my cheek on my sleeve, eyes stalking the movements in the dark. The truth is without Nate none of it reaches me. I feel invulnerable in the bewitching feeling that this world isn't mine to begin with. Why should I care what happens to me? Caring about that landed me here to begin with.

And it's something else. It's that unbearable feeling of leaving empty handed, of going through a days work haunting ruins of this place for scraps and coming out with nothing. Hiding, scrounging, surviving only to go home tail between my legs, to wake up the next day and suffer the same day yet again.

 _I'm leaving with something. I can't go back without something to show for it._ I repeat it over and over and it's almost reassuring. I feel like I'm merely a spectator, the ghost of my past self watches me and screams for me to turn back.

My panic drained out of me, I glower at them with a grim determination. The last cry to run is silenced before I take my vigil, sheathed inside the shadows of the shack.

"Damnit now you gone and tangled my fence." The farmer complains. The bandit struggles against the barbed wire, wincing and wailing and gasping for breath, blotches of blood spreading all over his knotted body. "I'll have you fix that before you leave, boy."

It's then that I finally see where the growling came from, yellow eyes flashing like headlights piercing through the night, a cloud of nimble grey roving the edge of the swamp. Splash splash splash. It emerges it's reptilian head crossing the veil of moonlight, beams revealing it's gummy fangs protruding from it's widening chops, the impossible gape where the bandit's head could snugly fit. He finds it too and screeches, rolling in the water and pulling more of the fence down with him.

"Tch. Yer only makin' more work fer yerself." The older man crouches at his level, confident he couldn't lay a finger on him. "Prich, c'mere." He clicks for his beast, and it approaches slowly, shadowed figure retreating it's maw like the closing snap of a bear trap.

"There there, girl." He tuts. "He ain't your meal, 'less he wanna be."

The bandit's trembling and moaning but has learned not to struggle, working slowly out of the fence bit by bit, spitting at the dark leather clad man gloating at his eye level."You're not sicking that thing on me." Defiant, as though he'd seen what it can do and had always known better."Try it, see what happens."

"I ain't needin' to." He swells his chest with his mouth wide open, chin pulling his mask down, pointing his hooked finger at him. "You gone an' punished yourself!" His laugh surges madly out of his throat, bending on his knees and gut billowing forward. He steadies on a post, gasping and choking in his fluids, and all the while he has trouble just _breathing_ he's still pointing his beastly finger at the bandit.

"Ohhh I always sayin' you'd do yerrself in. Oh and yer mutha too. She'd a been sayin' that if she were still livin'. But yuh couldn't take care of 'er couldya? Yuh had ta have yer fun, momma be damned!"

I exhale a breath I didn't know I was holding, blinking in mute horror.

 _They're related?_

My thoughts race. _It can't be like this everywhere._

 _There has to be something left, this can't be it._

A new sense of danger pines after me in distant echoes. I shouldn't still be here, I escaped. I could be miles away by now, warm and safe by the fire in Sanctuary.

And yet why can't I tear my eyes away? Why can't I move?

Quelling from his mad display, he crouches to his level, except this time he does so he can pull on one of the wires.

"You son of a- AHH!" The bandit lets out a tortured shriek, trying to grab onto it as it tears through his shoulders, begging and crying for him to stop.

He does, mercifully. He stands looming over his knotted son, eyes bland and devoid of any guilt.

"You son of a... bitch." The bandit cries as he pulls the wire out of his torn muscle, breath dull against his breast, his skin paling under moonlight. He sits deep in a bath of his own blood, scowling every time he pulls out another spike from the wire. "I just wanted... the girl... and you turned this... into a fucking war." I can't grasp the calmness of his voice. _Is this real?_ The old man crosses his arms in front of him. "Just let me go... and we'll fix your damn fence tomorrow. I need to get all of this..." He looks down on himself, tugging at his clothes. "...fixed up, thanks to you."

"An' wut do I do if something comes knocking while I sleep, boy?" He bellows, his chest puffed, hand pointing flatly at his front door.

"You got your traps... old man." Hes up on his shaky legs, staring at where I used to be and sighing, looking for his friend with an apprehensive frown. I can't remember seeing what happened to the marksman but I can easily guess. "We got no setup like this and nobody fucks with us... just fucking deal with it." He spots something in the murky water and scoops it up. I can barely make it out but it looks a bit like a human hand, chomped from the jagged bit.

"He's gone... she really ate him whole didn't she." I can almost hear what sounds like a laugh roiling from his windpipe.

He mouths something inaudible.

"Whatdyu say you little shit?" The old man growls menacingly, arm flexing behind him.

His son swivels his neck and brings his lips up with a twitch, cheeks worming and throttling with a demented grin. " _You limp-dicked fuck._ You heard me asshole." He points his finger accusingly and shouts in exultant tones. "I figured it out old man... _She was a whore_. And you want that vault girl 'cause you couldn't even keep your own woman under ya!"

I didn't see the move. A microsecond had passed and the explosive boom of a shotgun lights up the darkness.

"YOU'RE DEAD! You're dead! – _Ah! ... AH!_ " I back against the cabin wall, hearing screams of sheer agony. When I try and lean out I see the father kneeling over him, shotgun to his face.

His son throws his trembling arms up in helpless surrender. He pleads with the pruned face of a man with only one thing left to lose.

" _Please don't. PLEASE! I'm done screwing around I swear I'm fucking done just please don't kill me please just let me go and I swear I won't come near here ever again just please just let me go-!_ "

His father rises, satisfied hes learned his lesson.

"Yous be glad yous my childrin, or you's been dead right about now." He sniffs, presiding over him like a judge with his mallet, the barrels of it pointed up, silhouetted against the shrouded moon. "Best to remember that next time." He turns and casually walks to his front porch, sparing only a cold glance toward his bloodied son.

He's ridden with bullets and wire woven stabs, but he somehow gathers himself and focuses his rage for a crawl, an earthquake behind his voice and naked hatred graven in his strangled face.

" _Fuck you! FUCK YOU. WE'RE DONE WITH YOU, you hear?!"_ He screeches like a broken choir, dragging and gurgling through the murk to meet his father. _"_ When I get back I'm telling them what you did and we're coming here and we'll be taking your useless fucking farm! Should have gutted you and that fucking thing that night when you were- _gack!_ -"

I didn't stay and find out. I saw a sharp trace of twinkling white metal brought down on his throat and knew when I had overstayed my welcome.

 _This can't be real._ I'm retching as I'm running. Every part of me feels sick with regret.

 _This can't be real._

–

You lost your timekeepers. You measure your life with the wait for the day and the coming fear of the dark. You're compelled to worship a fiery star that almost seems godly, provides something pure, the one thing humanity couldn't possibly extinguish even if it wanted to.

The sun begins it's ascent, pulling itself from the underground, tendrils of light penetrating the sovereign night, forcing the old man to squint. This was a dark dark world full of dark dark secrets, and he has found yet another one he can sink his grubby teeth into.

He stands tall hawking over the blasted land, cocking his eyes past his swamp. Rays of light split the ending dusk like the curtains of an imminent play, the siren of nightlong conflicts coming to a close, breaching the atmosphere in ominous echoes.

A scarlet glow pierces the clouds and marks the time for him. There was still plenty of it left he muses, sloshing across the sinewy waters, approaching the hole left in his fence. He uses all his mental power to figure the timetable for his strategy, staring at the pile of meat he created, at once proud that he could have a day off of feeding so conveniently and yet griping over his ruined perimeter wire. He hears the galumph of a herd of bandits trampling toward him and dips his chin, absently checking his pockets, counting the bullets in his pouch.

The night is still fresh and teeming with potential he thinks, whistling for his girl to run on her prowl.

The herd arrives and the one in charge wrinkles his nose. "Guh-" The old farmer marches past the drowning corpses, and only then does the bandit know where he is, jerking his gun up instinctively.

"What the fuck old man?!" He gestures for one of his men to check the remains, his eyes glowering at what he knows is the true ruler of this swamp.

He snarls and pressures the trigger."That was your last joyride you fucking shitbag."

The farmer narrows his eyes. "Listen close boy."

He's disrespected yet again. The only thing in his territory who's able to make him feel small and insignificant is this sack of shit who lives in his swamp's backyard, who kills his men whenever he pleases and takes his living without going through his carefully founded hierarchy. Today, he decides, is his last day, and he doesn't think of who could find out and how this could come crashing down on him." _Did I fucking stutter?_ " He hisses, raising his gun again. "We're _done_ with you."

"Go holler at yer friends to c'mere. I've got a new deal for 'm." The farmer is adamant. The bandit leader's anger cools quickly. He has the sense that the old man could have something good this time.

"For what?" He still feels like blowing this guy away, but the promise in his persistence feels too hard to ignore.

"You get them and you bring 'm 'ere."

He gawks at his insolence, but he's grown tolerant of it for many reasons."Give me something or we're out." He looks for the horror that the old man calls a pet and can't figure out why he hasn't summoned her yet. Maybe the thing was finally slain. He hopes this as fervently as he would hope the world to end, taking a bold step toward the old man.

"Get 'm 'ere yesterday boy. I won't be repeating myself." He keeps it sealed. Of course he does.

"Get what? You haven't said a fucking thing!" The leader sputters frantically.

"Girlie walked on my property." He explains crudely, and the bandit relaxes his trigger finger. "She wus wearin' one of them suits from the vault times."

The bandit waits, arms crossed, but the old bag doesn't care to elaborate."That's it? You killed my men for a runaway?"

He draws something in the mud with his boot. "She had a different one." The leader gingerly hops the line to look.

"'111.'" He reads out loud. "Where is she?"

"Get yer men and follow me." He instructs, but the bandit raises his weapon. He glares at the old man.

"I got a better deal. You tell me where she is, we go get her, and we split the vault later once you paid your dues." He and his men inch closer.

"Prich." The old man doesn't need to consider. Click of the tongue, and he gets the response that he revels in every time, the only thing he lives for.

"Whoa whoa. Everybody get back!" He growls and the rest follow him into the swamp. "Yeah! Yeah, yeah!" He gambled but he was wrong. He knows when to not push his luck, lowering his weapon. "I got it just put the mutt down!"

"Good for you. Down Prich." He pats his leg and the two yellow glints disappear."Now get goin' before the goin' get cold boy." It's the first time he hears what he can only think of as excitement in the old man's voice. This must be big.

"And you gon' bring whatever you got left." He commands, pointing a crooked finger at their camp's direction. "Besht be hurry'n."

* * *

I haven't had a straight thought since the swamp farm incident, meandering drunkenly in the general direction of Sanctuary with the gathering wish that I'd stumble and fall into my own grave.

There's something that's starting to fester. I feel as though I've entered a doorway, and no matter what I try to reason myself with I can't return through it anymore.

Dogmeat whines faintly in the background. It almost sounds like a baby's cry. My heart leaps forward only to realize like a slap in my face that it wasn't real.

I hear a whimper escape my lips. If I could stop and collect myself for even just a moment... but if I do everything that I've seen out there would come rushing in.

And I can't, I just can't.

 _And I can't stop in the middle of nowhere either._ I want so desperately to find a corner I can sob and curl up in. I'm aching throughout my entire body, tremoring in my hands and knees, and not because of any fighting or running. It was not knowing if there's anything left of civilization, if I'd find anyone I could just talk to, someone I could trust. A warm person to sit next to, to lean on, share my life and what I've gone through in this shithole. Someone to remind me that there are still good people out there.

Is there anything to fight for knowing that those... those _people_ could be all that's left of us? A maddening thought clashes against all the hope I've furtively stored.

 _Shaun._

 _How could Shaun ever survive a world like this?_

I hug myself, shaking my head in denial. _Nate. I need you I-_

I'm struggling to keep face, bracing against the tide crashing behind my eyes, and Dogmeat is only making it worst with his whining.

"Stop it, just stop. We're almost there." I snap at him, swearing under my breath. _Fucking hell I miss real people._

He steps up the pace, trotting past me without so much as a cry. I'm getting mad at the dog who's saved my life more than any one person ever has. Why is he sticking to me? I still don't understand it. He's the only animal I've seen who looks normal, like a house pet only a lot more wild and independent.

And he's nothing like... that thing.

A cold flash of fear in my chest, world of silent threats pitting me against rapture.

 _Yellow eyes flashing with the promise that it'll leave no evidence of your existence behind. I see it striding weightlessly over the water, cutting into the bandit, then the next blink it's gnashing on his bones._

I thought I hadn't seen it but I did. I saw every bit of it, I just didn't want to believe it could exist.

 _The noises. How it slid with hardly a sound but when it caught him you could hear it savoring it's kill, monstrous wheeze of brass and rattling of a clock, slurping down the body in one go. When it moved I lost track and only saw a blurry figure tear past my vision, briefly glimpsing it and even then all I could catch was a grey shadow skulking, always watching us from a place we couldn't hope to see._

 _And it has a master, a man with a rubber mask and a voice of smoke, shiny blackened pupils pinpointing me effortlessly even in the ink of night, the hollow eyes of an eternally hungering soul._

" _Stop thinking about it."_ I hiss, shuddering, hugging myself.

 _Serpentine gaze makes you seem temporary, like a blip in the succession of life, a blob of meat only held together for it's pleasure._

Something in my head splinters apart.

Dogmeat looks up at me curiously, panting and shaking his tail. I wave my hand dismissively, calming my quivering lip, leaving behind the memory. It's still raw, still freshly branded, but I can't think of it here. Sanctuary is the only place where I can rest and try to think my way through it, where there's open houses to lay in and a relative feeling of safety.

One thing these past two weeks has taught me is that I took it for granted, which is a startling change from the painful memorial I once thought it to be.

"You can't think that way anymore. Just stay where it's safe." I mumble meekly to myself. "You can't afford to be this stupid."

The dog tilts his head. "Oh... sorry boy." I scratch behind his ear, pointing at myself. "Not you. I mean me." I sigh and shrug my tired shoulders. "I'm going crazy aren't I."

I latch on to some morsels of relief when I walk past the Red Rocket. I would have never predicted that it would one day grant me that feeling, but it's there, and it keeps me going past the bridge, even as my legs threaten to collapse.

I think I can see a campfire roaring near my house, and it brings me even further relief.

Crunch of twigs and rubble to my left.

"Over 'ere dandylegs."

 _No-_

My face freezes, eyes wide and heart clattering in drums.

 _How..._

I pivot around in a slow stumbling waltz.

Loud slug whips by my neck, the insane laugh of a fiendish old man ringing in my ears.

 _How did he find me?_ My soul sucked out of me. I am a pincushion puppet, flogged and dizzied and suspended in the air. He is unmasked, the daylight staging his melted face puckered like a grape, a human peeled from the outside, waxy skin and craters and bulges of flesh decaying before my very eyes.

A walking living carcass, rasping like a slivered violin.

"We found your home little girl." Mouthful of maggots, purple grinning lips. Smoke of a sadist in his voice. He misses his second shot purposefully. I'm pushed back by the blast, locked in his glassy eyes frozen like a deer.

He mouths something- ' _yeah that's her'_ to one of his people before he leisurely walks toward me, loading and raising his shotgun, circles of cold metal settling on my forehead.

"We'll be takin' care o' ya." Foul breath, rotting stench. _Rotten rotten rotten rotten-_

" _Won't be feelin' a thing._ "


End file.
